


Insomnium

by madamerioulette



Series: Fjollymauk Week 2019 [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, minor depictions of drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 09:10:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamerioulette/pseuds/madamerioulette
Summary: Fjord dreams of drowning and Mollymauk takes care of him.





	Insomnium

Drowning doesn’t have the same weight as it used to, not to Fjord, not anymore. It happened, once, when the ship exploded and he was hurled like a wrecked ragdoll into the ocean and he sank into the deep dark beyond. Water filled his lungs and burned like acid, nearly squeezing the air from him in an icy grip from the inside out, a wicked darkness creeping at the edges of his vision until it consumed him.

_ Consume. _

The second time he drowns, he dreams and he isn’t. It’s just a very uncomfortable sensation to have water fill him like an empty mug. It doesn’t stop being uncomfortable no matter the amount of dreams, and it never stops feeling too real; the frigid water pressing down on him, consuming him. Some nights he fights it, sometimes Fjord’s not in the mood to faux drown just so a mystical glowing eyeball can vaguely demand things of him.

_ Learn. _

Some nights, Fjord stares up at the stars. The firelight is low to lessen the attention of any devious passerbyers and there is the quiet chatter of whoever has decided to take watch. He lets the crackling flames and distant conversation lull into a white noise as he gazes at the darkness above him, tracing patterns in the stars with his eyes, until the solid ground gives way and he’s rocking, slowly, from side to side. The cool dirt grows colder still, wetter, and he’s weightless as he watches the night sky. The water overtakes him, and some nights Fjord lets it, because as much as he is ignorant, he is curious. And there’s always such an enticing, mysterious promise.

_ Reward _ .

Mollymauk does not talk about it, but Fjord knows he isn’t unaware. There are mornings when Fjord wakes with the violent taste of seawater on the back of his tongue and he gags. Those mornings, there is a wooden mug, chipped from use, filled with water sitting next to the bed. Mollymauk is still in the middle of the room on the floor, pillow tucked between his crooked arm and head, blanket pulled around him, body facing away from Fjord. Whether he’s awake, he won’t give it away and Fjord doesn’t call out to him. When Mollymauk wakes, he prays to his swords, greets Fjord with a chipper  _ good morning  _ and shuffles his tarot cards until the girls knock on their door to bring them down to the inn proper for breakfast.

It’s more difficult to hide it when they’re on the road and it isn’t just Mollymauk that’s so close. Everyone is so inquisitive. Except Mollymauk - and Yasha, when she’s around.

They are on watch tonight, the two of them, and they’re always the most quiet pair. Yasha sits against a tree, alert, eyes scanning the horizon, greatsword sitting in her lap and sometimes the rythmic sound of her sharpening it lulls Fjord to sleep. Mollymauk is always next to him, sitting cross legged, flipping through his tarot cards. Who knows what kind of fortunes he sees, or maybe it’s just a bunch of bullshit. Fjord’s never thought to ask. The cards make a quiet  _ fwip _ -ing noise next to him, and Fjord focuses on it. He focuses on Mollymauk. He sees his coat in the stars, the tiny moons, the teal sun, the nonsensical shapes that looks like runes carved into the sky. The stars glitter like his jeweled horns and, for a moment, Fjord thinks he sees Mollymauk like some kind of constellation, but it’s more solid. It’s more real. It’s Mollymauk standing on the surface of the water, looking down at him, getting smaller, sinking into the darkness - no, that’s Fjord, he’s sinking, and tonight he wants to fight it.

 

\--

 

Fjord groans in his sleep and Mollymauk looks up from his cards, stopping mid-way through a card flip. He puts the card back on the top and sets the deck down, twists where he sits to find his pack behind him and rustles through it. There’s still a little water in his waterskin pouch, but out on the open road there’s not exactly anything to put it in. Well, there is Nott’s collection of shiny things, she’s got to have a cup in there somewhere. Perhaps not; it’ll stink of liquor anyhow and if she wakes while he’s rummaging through her things he’ll get an ear full for double talking. Mollymauk leans forward to put his waterskin next to Fjord, near the front of his face so he’ll see it.

There’s a small noise from the tree they’ve found shelter under and when Mollymauk looks over to it he sees Yasha leaning to the side to watch what he’s doing, a small knowing smile on her face as he catches her gaze. He wrinkles his nose at her and promptly goes back to flipping his cards, shuffling, dealing. Yasha says nothing, and it’s the small things Mollymauk thanks the Gods for.

 

\--

 

Fjord wakes with saltwater in his mouth and the violent urge to vomit, as if it’s some kind of punishment for fighting through his dream. There’s nothing to expel except a mouthful of water, right next to a waterskin that wasn’t there when he went to bed. He reaches for it immediately, unperturbed by the eyes looking in his direction already, drinks what’s left of it in great gulps. 

“Fjord?” It’s Beau, one eyebrow raised in his direction. “You good?”

He looks up from his makeshift cot and sees her, alongside a worried Jester and a quiet Yasha. Before he can answer, there’s a slap on his back, and a familiar chuckle.

“Never knew anyone who drowned by drinking out of a waterskin too fast,” Mollymauk is there, without his coat, standing over Fjord with both hands now on his hips. “Don’t care to meet one, really.”

There’s a blink of time where Fjord realizes what he’s doing and he lets out a weak chuckle, wiping the excess water from his chin. “Yeah… yeah, just drank too fast, went down the wrong pipe is all.”

That seems to buy him the morning, and saves him from answering anymore questions. Fjord sits up, finishes the rest of the waterskin, and tries to find Mollymauk in the morning hustle. He isn’t looking in Fjord’s direction, his back facing him as he talks animatedly with Jester about something he can’t hear, tail flicking as if it accents his words the way his hands do. There’s a moment when he looks over his shoulder briefly to Fjord, and their eyes catch and there’s a knowing look in that deep, vivid red. And then he’s back to his conversation, seamlessly, laughing that strange cackle of a laugh Fjord’s grown fond of.

The waterskin weighs heavily in his hands, though empty. Mollymauk does not talk about it, but Fjord knows he owes him.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Fjolly Week ❤
> 
> all ficlets for Fjolly Week have accompanying art found @thelittlemiss on twitter
> 
> thank you for reading! ❤


End file.
